a replica of the multiplying universe
by possibilist
Summary: Or, five times Rachel learns something new about Quinn  and one time she doesn't . Faberry fluff, spanning from when Rachel and Quinn meet to lots of future stuff.


summary: Or, five times Rachel learns something new about Quinn (and one time she doesn't). Faberry fluff, spanning from when Rachel and Quinn meet to lots of future stuff.

an (1): friends! so i had another surgery on wednesday, and today's really the first day i was with it enough to write anything that people could actually read. so, instead of doing my gigantic stack of homework like any normal person would, i wrote this. sometimes i worry about myself, but oh well. i'd be much more productive if glee hired me. this will also reveal how much of a lit nerd i really am, so have fun with that :) anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this! also, you should leave a review, because those are totally wonderful and magical and lovely and everything. merci! xx

an (2): recommended listening: "vase" by miike snow.

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><p>a replica of the multiplying universe<p>

.

_your hips were that much of the moon for me;  
><em>_your deep mouth and its delights, that much sun;  
><em>_your heart, fiery with its long red rays,_

_was that much ardent light, like honey in the shade.  
><em>_so i pass across your burning form, kissing  
><em>_you—compact and planetary, my dove, my globe._

—pablo neruda, _xvi, cien sonetos de amor_

_..._

one. _toutes nos passions reflètent les étoiles (all of our passions reflect the stars)_

_._

Quinn knows French. Like, really knows it, fluently. Rachel learns this a few months into their sophomore year, when Quinn seems to be shouting something at Finn in a fluid, beautiful way, although her hazel eyes have darkened.

They're in the cafeteria and Rachel is just trying to get through lunch without getting slushied, and then Quinn just stands up a few tables away, pounds her small fist down on the table. Finn has a hard time looking away from her legs receding into the perfect, red slices of fabric that make up her Cheerio's skirt that she won't get to wear much longer because of the baby, but then he does, finally, cringing when he sees her face.

Quinn yells a few more things and Finn looks even more confused than normal—Rachel thinks his face is cute but somehow Quinn is _sexy_—and then Quinn storms away.

For some reason, Rachel also knows in this second that she should follow, so she does, no matter how silly her brain tells her it is. She eventually finds Quinn outside, squinting into the sun, the blue skies and green fields by the bleachers making her appear even more some sort of figment of Rachel's imagination, because she's _beautiful_.

"What?" Quinn says, and the way she fights out the question is so _tired _that Rachel's heart breaks.

"I just wanted to see if you were okay." Rachel sits down a few rows away from Quinn.

Quinn puts her elbows on her knees and buries her face in her hands, but she nods.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Rachel, I'm sure," Quinn says, although she doesn't look up and Rachel can hear the wetness of tears even in Quinn's voice.

"It's—it's cool that you know French," Rachel says. "I've never known anyone before who knows French, not, like, really, and I think it's a useful skill to be bilingual, although I'm not sure how much you'll really use French here. But maybe if you go to Paris, you know—"

"_Rachel_."

Rachel knits her hands together. "Sorry."

Quinn straightens her back and wipes a few tears quickly from her cheeks, trying to do it discreetly so Rachel won't see.

"Can you tell me something?"

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "That depends."

"Oh—" Rachel finds herself blushing as Quinn comes to stand in front of where Rachel's sitting, shading her eyes with her hand— "I-I meant something in French."

"Oh," Quinn says, then shrugs. She offers Rachel her hand. "Sure."

Rachel tries not to acknowledge the jolt of dangerous electricity that shoots up her arm when her fingers touch Quinn's, and, all of a sudden, Quinn's face smooths out, and her body tenses.

"_Je t'aime plus que tu ne sauras jamais_," Quinn whispers, her eyes hard.

"What does that mean?" Their faces are so close that Rachel could kiss her.

"I hate everything about you," Quinn says, then walks away, taking Rachel's breath with her.

.

Sometimes, Quinn still whispers it like she still hates Rachel, like she _loathes _her, and her eyes are dark in the way that only Rachel knows, but the way Quinn's hands are so, so gentle on Rachel's skin means something completely different. Because, Rachel had discovered all the way back then, when they were sixteen, after some extensive time spent muddling through things on Google Translate, the phrase doesn't really have anything to do with hate at all. Instead, Quinn had told her, "I love you more than you'll ever know," and something about this is still as wonderful as it is unsettling.

_..._

two. _helen of the light robes, shining among women_

_._

Quinn's _neck _is sexy. It's not like Rachel hasn't seen it before, but it's always been at least partly covered with Quinn's long Cheerio's ponytail. Somehow, Rachel gets stuck sitting at an angle behind Quinn, Santana, and Brittany on the plane ride back to Ohio from Nationals, and, when Quinn takes out a book from her bag—_The Iliad_, which Rachel just knows is the nerdiest thing ever because it certainly wasn't assigned reading for their English class, and she sort of loves that about Quinn—and hunches over to read the words, the sun somehow seems to stream through the window in just the perfect way to hit Quinn in the back, and _God._

Quinn's fingers find their way to rest on the tender skin now exposed by her new haircut, dancing along the wispy, golden baby hairs that Rachel can see for the first time now, and the rest of Quinn's hair falls around her face like a damn halo or something, and it kind of makes Rachel feel dizzy.

She chalks it up to the altitude and the compressed oxygen and Finn sitting next to her, but it's really the first time she allows herself to imagine how perfectly _everything_ about Quinn would fit in her hands.

.

The first time they wake up together in the morning—the first time Quinn is brave enough to stay the night—Rachel wakes her with a kiss, fists her hands in the back of Quinn's messy, wild hair, and Quinn moans when she tugs. The little hairs there are the softest things Rachel's ever felt, and when Rachel mumbles, "We really do _fit_," Quinn smiles sleepily and doesn't seem surprised at all.

...

three. _there are 3,199,724 unique combinations of seven tiles that can be plucked form a virgin Scrabble bag of ninety-eight letters and two blanks_

.

Quinn's, like, a Scrabble genius. The first time they play against each other is senior year, in the hospital, about a week after the accident, when Quinn's finally feeling well enough to sit up and stay awake for more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time.

Even completely doped up on a plethora of pain meds, she manages to beat Rachel by about a billion points, smirking when she puts down strings of letters that Rachel thinks cannot _possibly _be words, but, when Brittany checks in the dictionary, sure enough, they are.

The more flustered Rachel acts the happier Quinn's smile is, and so Rachel makes it a point of acting especially angry as often as possible, especially when Quinn gets a triple word score.

The only game Rachel manages to win—it's late, Quinn pouts—she does so by playing _sexy _off of Quinn's _axion, _and then Quinn can't think of another word to play after that, so she claims she's exhausted and forfeits.

"Cheating," Quinn says, laying back against the pillows and blinking her eyes a few times with what looks like a lot of effort. "You're a little cheater."

"I didn't cheat," Rachel says.

"It's cheating for you to play _sexy_."

Rachel tries to hide a smile as Quinn crosses her arms. "It's a legal word."

"You _know _why it's cheating, Rach."

"Oh? And why is that?"

Quinn fights her eyes open again and looks seriously at Rachel. "_You_."

"What?"

Quinn sighs and takes Rachel's hand in hers, and Rachel finds her lips drawn to Quinn's forehead. "You could maybe think about buying some longer skirts," she says.

Rachel laughs. "You don't really mean that."

Quinn's brows furrow as if she's really thinking hard about it, but then she shakes her head. "No. No, I don't."

.

Their senior year in college, they end up trying to play (slightly inebriated) team Scrabble at a party with some of Quinn's friends from Yale, which lasts about two minutes before their fingers are touching over the letters, and they play _sexy _before Quinn emits a helpless growl from somewhere in the back of her throat and stands abruptly, tugging Rachel with her by the hand.

They wander quickly until Quinn ushers them into a closet and slams Rachel up against the wall.

"Will this count as bonus points?" Rachel asks, trying to stay quiet.

"You never did get longer skirts," Quinn says, rasps, her voice about fifty octaves lower than normal, the way that douses Rachel's spine in shivers of want.

...

four. _fulfill your pleasure. live a thousand years_

.

Quinn very rarely falls apart (in the good way), but, when she does, it's perfect.

Quinn's laugh is wonderful. It surprised Rachel the first time she heard it, the honest bravado and silliness of its cadence, because she couldn't remember if she ever had before.

But this particular summer day is especially magical, because Quinn is standing a few feet away, picking up their coffees from the barista at the Starbucks at the mall. He's trying to hit on her, and for a second Rachel's nervous. They've only been on a couple of dates and—while Rachel's about a thousand percent sure that Quinn's really, _really_ gay—they really haven't talked about it too much.

But then Quinn smiles at the guy and turns to point towards Rachel, who looks down immediately and studies her fingernails. Then Rachel hears Quinn say, "That's my _girlfriend_."

The poor barista's face just falls—Rachel looks up as to not miss that—and he looks kind of panicked for a second before Quinn shakes her head and says, "But I really am flattered. Really, thanks."

He mumbles something awkward in response, and Quinn walks (saunters, struts, seems to scream _godfuckmehere _with just her steps) over to Rachel, hands her her coffee with an infuriatingly adorable tilt of her head, then brings her lips to Rachel's in a gentle, chaste, _real _kiss.

Rachel backs up and looks around to see if there's anyone there they know—Quinn hasn't really come out yet—but she can only really look at Quinn's face, because she just looks so _happy_.

"Your girlfriend, huh?"

Quinn's face-splitting smile might be the most beautiful thing Rachel's ever seen. Quinn takes her hand and they head off in the direction of the anthropologie, and Quinn just starts laughing. Throws her head back and _laughs_, laughs gracefully until it's not and then she even snorts once, and Rachel has to join in then.

Quinn manages to calm down as they walk into the store, but for the rest of the afternoon, when Rachel catches Quinn's gaze and her little, silly smile, those perfect, pure moments of laughter seem to go on forever.

.

Quinn _melts_. Literally, gets all floppy and uncontrolled and completely just falls apart in Rachel's hands. Their first time, Rachel's blown away by the beauty of Quinn beneath her, completely bare. She wants to remember it all: the swell of Quinn's breasts, the ragged gasps of her breath, the goosebumps all over her skin, the way her eyes flutter and flutter and flutter until they finally close, her swollen lips, the way Quinn laces their fingers together and squeezes with a whimper. What really sends Quinn over the edge is when Rachel's tongue grazes along the scars still evident along her ribs, the smooth, tender, raw skin that snakes between Quinn's bones. Quinn begs and pleads and they're the best, most perfect words Rachel has ever heard.

Quinn comes with tears and shudders and her fingernails digging into Rachel's shoulder blades, _fuck,__iloveyou _a desperate, perfect prayer from her lips.

...

five. _the lamplight gave a soft make-believe feeling to our world which made me want to whisper and walk about on tiptoe_

.

Quinn is a messy sleeper. The first time Rachel sees her is that first night in New York, at Nationals, and for some reason Quinn gets stuck on the floor—Mercedes and Tina take one bed and Brittany and Santana the other; Rachel gets the couch—but Quinn doesn't really complain.

In the middle of the night, Rachel wakes up because she can't get over a lump in the cushion pressing into her back, and that's when she catches sight of Quinn, sprawled out on the floor, her head completely missing the pillow. Quinn's kicked her blankets pretty much anywhere but her body, and the hem of the bottom of her white cotton nightgown is riding up her thigh. Quinn sleeps almost all of the way on her stomach, her cheek pressed into the floor and her arms flung wide, like wings.

Her breathing is deep and even, and her hair is loose and long and almost white in the slanted light that comes through the curtain, and then Quinn's eyes dart back and forth beneath her closed eyelids, lightening fast. It's the first time Rachel's ever seen Quinn peaceful, and it's the first time she's ever seen Quinn—or anyone, for that matter—dream.

.

Quinn has to have surgery again when they're twenty-three; her _appendix_, although it kind of still scares Rachel to death to see Quinn in the hospital again.

But Quinn does fine and gets to go home the next day—home as in the little, sun-drenched apartment that she and Rachel share, on the Upper West Side, which is all kinds of amazing—and she pretty much just sleeps and watches an entire cycle of ANTM (and cries during every episode).

The day after, though, Rachel has a dress rehearsal that she really can't miss, no matter how much she'd rather just stay home with her girlfriend and watch more poorly made, completely addicting TV, but Kurt's working on a different show and he's off, so he volunteers to stay with Quinn for the day.

Rachel thinks about Quinn the whole day, and she may or may not text Kurt sixteen times in four minutes before he texts back, but finally they're done and Rachel gets to go home.

Kurt greets her at the door. "She's asleep now, so be quiet." He smiles. "Although I don't even think _you _could wake her up at the moment."

Rachel laughs, just a little, and goes into their bedroom. Quinn is on her back this time, stretched across their bed, her face happy and peaceful and—blessedly—pain-free.

"I have to say, Rach, she's probably the cutest, most insane sleeper ever," Kurt whispers.

"She's perfect."

Kurt shakes his head. "Don't get all mushy on me too. Hearing _all _about the things you too _'enjoy'_—" he air quotes— "from a high Quinn Fabray is terrifying enough as is."

"Oh, God."

"I didn't really need to know exactly what goes on in your apartment, and various dressing rooms, closets, alleyways, photo-booths—"

"—she told you about the photo-booth?"

Kurt closes his eyes. "She told me about the photo-booth."

Rachel bites her lip, fighting between embarrassment and smug pride, and then she and Kurt both look down at Quinn when she mumbles a little and sighs, shifting her shoulders before staying asleep.

"You know," Kurt says, squeezing Rachel's shoulder as Rachel perches on the side of the bed, brushing aside a few unruly strands of Quinn's soft hair, "I kind of saw this coming."

"Me and Quinn?"

"When we first came here in high school, you looked at her like you still do." He shrugs. "You _see_ her. You've never looked at anyone else quite the same way."

Because Rachel remembers, and because she can tell that Quinn's dreaming now, she smiles and kisses Quinn on the forehead. "You always had wonderful intuition," Rachel says.

Kurt grins.

...

six. _your today is eternity_

.

Quinn is _brave_. It's the one thing Rachel never needs to learn about Quinn, because the first time Rachel ever sees Quinn she knows it. It's the first football game of their freshman year, and just before halftime everyone's already buzzing about the new freshman transfer that made Cheerio's.

And then Quinn struts out onto the field, and she cheers a little before some girls loft her into the air, and it's terrifying—really, really scary—as Quinn flips and spins before they catch her perfectly. Quinn smiles triumphantly, and the stadium erupts, and Rachel knows immediately that Quinn has secured her place at the top.

Quinn's _full_ of fear, Rachel learns later, so she's not _fearless_. She just has a ton of courage, and spunk, and some crazy, and a good dose of humor in there eventually, that sees her through all of the flying and falling and righting herself again and again that she has yet to do.

.

Quinn proposes, when they're twenty-six, because it's been _ten years _since they'd really met, and eight years since Quinn came out to everyone, and it feels like forever—in the good way, the tingling way—since they fell in love, and Quinn says she wants nothing more than to grow old having Rachel nag at her every step of the way.

Things change all the time, but this certainty about Quinn—grounded in the way her neck looks, in her scars, in her eyes, in her talent, in her success, in her beautiful, brilliant mind, in her faith, in the way she sleeps, in the way she _breathes_—is something Rachel doesn't doubt for a second.

The ring is Tiffany's, set in gold, and it reminds Rachel's dizzy, swooning head of stars. Quinn smiles.

* * *

><p>references. (these are smart ones! totally use them to impress others, haha.)<p>

title, quote. XVI by Pablo Neruda (from Cien Sonetos de Amor)  
>one. <em>La Légende des siècles<em> by Victor Hugo.  
>two. <em>The Odyssey<em>, Book 4 by Homer.  
>three. <em>Word Freak: Heartbreak, Triumph, Genius, and Obsession in the World of Competitive SCRABBLE Players <em>by Stefan Fatsis.  
>four. <em>Julius Caesar<em>, Act III, Scene I by William Shakespeare.  
>five. <em>I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings <em>by Maya Angelou.  
>six. <em>Confessions <em>(taken from Book XI) by St. Augustine.


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